


charagma

by ButterflyGhost



Series: due South Wizard!Verse [22]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, due South
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-27
Updated: 2012-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-06 03:25:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/pseuds/ButterflyGhost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some marks don't fade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	charagma

He's shaking. I didn't realise how much power there would be in my touch, after waiting ten years. Not magic, not that power. But something older, something deeper. He's... hungry. He's looking at me like he's been starving to death all these years.

Good. Good. So he hurts. 

He picked a nice hotel, but well... he didn't think. It's too big. The bed, when I sit on it to test the springs, is too soft. The window's too big, the light coming through as the clouds finally break is too much, too bright, too loud...

And now I'm shaking too.

He sits next to me, on the too big, too soft bed. He puts an arm round me, as though I'm fragile, as though I might break. I can feel it though, trembling through him. Need. Hunger... It's not even sexual, it's not even lust, it's just... 

In my dearest dreams I never imagined I could have so much power over him. For the first time in ten years there is no weight pushing on me, no darkness sapping me, nothing holding me down. The too big world is invading me like a drug. I can feel myself, fizzing, buzzing, surging with life. I'm wide open, terrified, I need someone to hold me, to fill me, to need me, to hurt... I need him to hurt. I want him to hurt. I couldn't stop myself even if I wanted to, even if I tried.

And then, it’s so quick, I don’t even know how it happened... I have him, finally, pressed down against the mattress, and a look of astonishment on his face, and I'm straddling him, stripping him, and he's helpless. Big eyes, breathing hard, his pulse hammering through him... I can feel it in his throat, when I put my hands around it, and then I can feel it in his heat, in his groin, as I bring my head down. And now he’s jerking in my mouth, gasping like nobody’s ever done this before, and when I peer up, he looks... terrified. Naked.  


Oh, he's delicious. I could just eat him.  
...  
...

 

I’m... not without experience. I’ve done this kind of thing before... but it was never like this. It was as though... as though I was nothing but a moment, shrinking to an instant, to a burning point of anguish, where there was only her mouth, and my need, and all I could feel was her tongue, and her teeth, and her lips. And I’d never ever thought it could be like this. Somehow I’d never imagined doing this with her. I’d imagined sex, of course I had... but this... I’d always imagined other lips, another tongue. Never thought I could have them, because he... well, he needs protecting from the likes of me. From wizards and witches and all our mess.

But she’s lying next to me now, not him, and I can’t forgive myself for thinking of him while holding her. And needing her. I need her. This hurts. We’re holding on so tight, too tight. I can see already that we’ve bruised each other. Is this going to be the pattern of it? We’ve been shipwrecked; all we have left is each other.

I kiss her hair, and she lets her fingers stray across my chest. “I never thought you’d be so smooth,” she says. I can’t speak yet. I’m still shaking. She grins at me, showing her teeth. I’m too transparent; she can see the whole world through me. Delicately she points her fingertips against my chest, and drags the nails down. A little hurt. Better than the big hurt. Better than whatever it is that’s beating in my chest right now, where my heart used to be. Good Lord, it’s like she’s eaten my heart.

Now she brings her arm up to me, and I see one of the bruises more clearly. A shock, it shudders through me. This is not one of mine. She feels me start in her embrace, and she flinches away, draws back. Is she ashamed?

“What did they do to you?”

“It was the first war. I told you... I told you about my parents.”

“I know you were fostered.”

“I had to make choices. We all did.” She stares at me, her face a mask, but I can feel her fear. She’s afraid that I might leave her. “I made the wrong choice.”

I take her arm, stroke it, let my fingers trace the mark. “We all make the wrong choice sometimes,” I whisper. “I made a wrong choice.” There are tears trembling on her lashes, and I bend my head towards the mark, the dark mark, staining her sweet skin. It has faded over time, but it will always be with her, like the sting of my betrayal.

I kiss her. Kiss her on the dark mark, kiss the old wound, the bruise that will not fade. And then, the words come out of me, as convulsively as vomit. Oh God, this hurts.

“I love you, Victoria. I won’t ever go.”


End file.
